


Kill, kill, kill

by Ihni



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Deaths, Gen, Poetry, Rhyme, Rhymes, the church scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 12:31:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3729034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihni/pseuds/Ihni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The church scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill, kill, kill

He was just leaving; was on his way out  
But he stopped walking when he heard a shout  
And then, a signal; piercing and shrill  
And his thoughts narrowed to _kill, kill, kill_

Suddenly moving, whirling around  
Drawing his gun without making a sound  
There is a tension that’s building, until  
He pulls the trigger to _kill, kill, kill_

Dodging a punch, ducking under an arm  
Aiming for heads to cause maximum harm  
No one is spared for he’s firing at will  
The voice in his head’s chanting _kill, kill, kill_

Jumping, reloading; a punch and a shot  
Stabbing and slashing without conscious thought  
Taking advantage of knowledge and skill  
All that he wants is to _kill, kill, kill_

Items are weapons; people must die  
Chair to a head and a knife through an eye  
Everything’s chaos, bloodlust and thrill  
And a desire to _kill, kill, kill_

Stabbed in the back; finds a gun and reloads  
Burns someone’s face, something clicks and explodes  
Few are left standing, but he’s fighting still  
Cannot stop, _will_ not stop; _kill, kill, kill_

Carnage and slaughter, blood on the floor  
He’s the last one, and he goes for the door  
Everything’s silent, everything’s still  
His mind’s still telling him; _kill, kill, kill_

But there’s no targets, for everyone’s dead  
All of a sudden, a flash through his head  
And he is blinking and feeling quite ill  
What was he thinking? To _kill, kill, kill_

Mortified, he’s stumbling out in the sun  
Where he is greeted by Valentine’s gun  
There’s no ”I’m sorry”s, no time for ”goodbye”s  
It’s for the best if he _dies, dies, dies_

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything relevant, I just like to rhyme.


End file.
